


Violet Hill

by teacupsandtime



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Skin Hunger, get after it will graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupsandtime/pseuds/teacupsandtime
Summary: “Put your hands on me, Hannibal.”





	Violet Hill

Will Graham had had enough.

As he walked into the small living room of the isolated cabin Hannibal owned (under one of his many aliases) he heard the wind pick up outside. Snow whipped around the groaning wood and rattled the glass of the windows. He pulled the long sleeves of his sweater down over his knuckles as he walked towards the main room, its walls flickering orange with the light of the fireplace. 

Hannibal was sitting on the couch with a shirt in his lap, a needle and thread in his hands. He looked up, the button he was working on replacing left half fastened to the wool, as Will came towards him. His greying hair hung long down his neck and face, his chin heavily stubbled. 

“Will.”

Ignoring the call of his name, Will walked until he was directly in front of him and stopped. Reaching down, he pulled the shirt from Hannibal’s hands and gathered the needle and tiny spool. He placed it all on the small end table next to the couch and - without a word - lowered himself onto Hannibal’s lap, a knee on either side of his thighs.

Hannibal looked up at him, mouth open slightly. Will’s name began to round the curves of his lips but were then silenced by the pressure of the younger man’s mouth on his. Will’s hands came into the hair on either side of Hannibal’s head, his thumbs grazing over his ears. He dropped slightly to take Hannibal’s bottom lip between the two of his and sucked, his fingers tightening as he did. Under him, Hannibal pushed his mouth back against his as he curled one hand around Will’s wrist, the other staying motionless beside him.

They’d been here for months. In the middle of nowhere somewhere in the boreal forest of Canada. Winter had come and it had come fast and when Will had looked out of the kitchen window that morning, he’d seen nothing but white.

Hannibal had come up behind him, close enough that Will could feel his warm breath on the side of his neck, and said that they would more than likely be shut in for days. The rumbling timbre of his voice had made Will shudder.

He had long ago come to terms with his intimate feelings for Hannibal, complicated though they were, and in spite of the two of them never speaking about it directly, he knew Hannibal felt the same. And so they carried on in their quiet life together, moving to different safe houses when needed. Their bodies recovered, got stronger, and became more and more starved for touch.

At night Will would lie in his bed alone, pull on his cock, and think of the man lying in another room not 50 feet from him. He knew Hannibal’s skin cried out for contact; the older man wasn’t subtle about careful brushes to Will’s arm, or a quick hand between his shoulder blades. The touches were always quick, but they were also frequent and calculated. 

But Hannibal made no move to take things further.

So now Will Graham found himself in his lap, his hips rocking forward slightly as he continued to kiss him.

There was a loud crack in the fireplace at Will’s back and Hannibal pulled their mouths apart. He pressed their foreheads together for a moment, seeming to collect himself, before he pulled back and moved Will’s hands away from his face.

“Don’t.”

Will felt his stomach drop, an intense and paralyzing fear that he’d been egregiously wrong in reading Hannibal’s feelings stuck him like a physical blow.

“Do you not want this? Not want me?”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d had time to consider them. They made the room go still - open.

Bare.

Hannibal’s lips upturned in a quick, sad smile. He moved his hips under Will’s weight but made no sincere move to dislodge him.

“Oh, Will,” he said softly. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to convey how badly I want this. And you.”

Will’s fingers grabbed at the material of Hannibal’s sweater, the fabric bunching under his curled knuckles. He let his hips rock again - experimentally and felt Hannibal’s body go rigid and hard.

“You don't need to,” Will responded. “I _know_ you.”

He pushed against him again and brought their mouths a breath away from each other.

“I see you.”

He leaned in further - just slightly - as if to kiss him, but then pulled back, tempting Hannibal to follow.

He didn’t.

“Why?”

Hannibal’s eyes were shining. He pulled a hand up to hold the side of Will’s face.

“How will you feel when the snow clears?” he asked. “When the sky is blue again and the sun shines brightly in this place and everything is laid bare?”

Will pushed his cheek into Hannibal’s large, warm hand. The fingers against his skin wavered, unsteady in their foundation. The tears building in his eyes threatened to fall. Will felt the heat of Hannibal’s body between his legs. Outside, the storm continued to kick and scream, fighting to get inside.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But whatever it is, it won’t be enough to make me want to retreat to warmer climates.”

He released his grip on Hannibal’s sweater and pushed his hand down and under the wool, fingertips pressing into his warm skin.

“Metaphorically speaking, anyway,” Will added with a small smile. “At some point I would like to go outside without twenty different articles of clothing on.”

Hannibal grinned then, swallowing the building tension in his throat. Will’s eyes fell back to his mouth and he leaned in again, rocking forward slightly on his knees. His hands gripped the couch behind Hannibal’s head as he stopped, lips so very close. 

He waited.

Hannibal tipped his chin up then and Will pulled back. 

Hannibal reached for him again and again found open air.

“Put your hands on me, Hannibal.”

A strong hand came to the back of his head and Will felt himself knocked nearly off balance as he was pulled forward against Hannibal’s mouth. It was hot, open, and desperate. Will moved his hands off the back of the couch and wrapped his arms around the older man’s shoulders as he pushed up against him.

He pulled away for air but was allotted mere seconds before Hannibal was on him again.

Will could feel the obscene hardness between his legs, nearly painful already. His skin screamed for contact, his entire body trembling. Hannibal’s hands were at his clothed hips, under his shirt and up his back. Those hands pushed him forward as their kiss ended. Below him, Hannibal gazed up, eyes wild with lust and adoration. His mouth was swollen and slick. 

A hand cupped Will’s jaw and held him still as those lips found his neck. Hannibal rained kisses across his throat, stopping at his Adam’s Apple and letting his teeth press in gently. Will’s mind raced back to the night they killed The Dragon. He saw Dolarhyde’s throat ripped open, flesh in Hannibal’s teeth, and felt his cock jerk hard.

The narrow hips under him bucked up hard as Hannibal’s hands slipped under the waistband of his pants and grabbed the rounded flesh of his backside. 

“Have you been with a man before, Will?”

Will groaned at the question murmured against his skin.

“I’ve never _been_ with anyone,” he said as he pulled at Hannibal’s sweater until the older man got the hint and pulled away long enough to let it be yanked up and over his head. His chest was dusted with curly, greying hair; muscles well-shaped from a lifetime of secretive labor.

“I’ve had sex with women,” he continued. “But I’ve never been with them. Never felt like myself.”

Hannibal hands moved to his head, fingers curling into his dark hair and pulling down.

“Never really thought about sex with men, either,” he continued. “But I’ve thought about it with you. I dream about you constantly. The first night I was alone in my house after you surrendered I dreamt that we’d killed Jack. You cut his throat, ripped into his chest with your bare hands and fed me his still beating heart.”

Hannibal sucked hard at the wet skin under Will’s jaw, breath puffed out with a forceful moan. It was strange, Will thought, to see and feel and hear Hannibal so effected. He’d seen him after Tobias Budge had tried to kill him. Watched him snap Mason Verger’s neck. Looked into his eyes as he’d run the knife across his belly. Watched him fall to his knees and surrender to Jack.

In all of that, Hannibal’s body and mind had continued to remain entirely under his command; unimpeded by emotion.

And now he was unraveling under him. Palms slick and digging into Will’s scalp, cock hard and aching against his own, breath escaping in desperate pants against his neck.

The Chesapeake Ripper was undone.

Will rocked his hips hard again, maintaining a steady motion, while pulling Hannibal’s hands from his hair and positioning them at his sides. Their mouths came together again, tongues sliding inside to taste. Under his breath, Hannibal softly moaned his name and let his hands move back under Will’s shirt again, palms flat on his sides. His fingers crept up until the thick fabric began to bunch and the younger man pulled away long enough to rip the sweater over his head, tossing it quickly to the floor before pushing back against him.

The tears that had been lingering in Hannibal’s eyes fell without flourish as he felt his bare chest come flush against Will’s. He’d lingered in his cell at the state hospital for three years, his only physical interaction with other people coming through forceful and practiced restraints, shielded by rubber gloves. It had been easy enough to retreat to his memory palace for mental solace but there was little he could do to ease the heavy drag of skin starvation.

That night on the cliff, as Will had leaned into him - held onto him - he’d been unable to resist reaching out. How perfect that his first intimate physical contact in three years would come from a man who’d understood him as no other had. A man that he loved as he loved no other human being.

Now he was rushing blindly towards another precipice with that same man in his arms. 

Hannibal pulled Will against him so forcefully that the younger man toppled forward, his upper body trapped in the cage of Hannibal’s arms.

“I dreamt of your mouth often,” Will gasped into his ear. “Still do. Stained red and slick with life. I’d wake and not know if you’d fucked me or killed me and either way - god - either way, I hated being pulled from it.”

Hannibal was losing his grip on the edge. He rocked up against the weight on top of him and buried his face in the side of Will’s neck, exhaling with a wanton moan as his orgasm rushed through him. He felt Will hold him through it, knees drawing in and arms wrapped around his neck, as a warm, wetness hit the front of his pants and wet the tops of his thighs. Hannibal’s vision cleared slowly, eyes focusing on the dancing fire over Will’s shoulder, as his heart thumped wildly in his chest. 

He felt Will’s mouth on him, pressing gentle kisses to the side of his head and temple.

He waited. 

The arms around Will tightened. Teeth pulled at his earlobe.

“Would you let me use it now?”

Will’s hands ran down and up the warm skin of his shoulders slowly, nails leaving vanishing lines.

“Please.”

Hannibal’s hands moved down to his hips, fingers gripping and curled up, as he lifted the two of them off the couch in a fluid motion. Surprise pushed the air from his lungs as Will’s arms and legs tightened around him reflexively. Hannibal turned them quickly and pushed Will back onto the couch before falling to his knees between the younger man’s legs. Long fingers worked at the buttons of his pants and Will lifted his hips as they were pulled down and off his legs, his boxers going with them.

Coming back between his knees, Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will’s lower back as his head dropped. Will’s eyes found the fireplace over Hannibal’s slumped shoulders - freezing in anticipation - before he felt himself enveloped in a hot, wet warmth.

“God.”

Hannibal moved slowly, pushing himself all the way down the length of him before moving back up, his tongue dragging along the shaft. The hands at Will’s back came forward to clutch at his hips, securing into the jut of bone there. Will felt his feet arch, toes pressing into the floor and calves straining.

He looked down and watched Hannibal work. His lips glistening, cheeks hollowed, eyes closed. Unbidden came memories of eating flesh at Hannibal’s table. The silver fork coming to his mouth, lips curved in a satisfied smile. That mouth that was capable of such cruelty was now repurposed, focused singularly on giving pleasure rather than pain.

Will almost laughed. 

Instead, he let his hips thrust up carefully, gasping as he felt the back of Hannibal’s throat. The muscles around him constricted in a slow swallow and Will pushed a hand into the hair at Hannibal’s head.

“I . . . I can’t,” he breathed. “Please.”

The mouth on him worked faster though taking longer pauses when there was no where else for Will to go. Hannibal’s hands returned to the small of his back, pulling him closer and Will tightened the hand in Hannibal’s hair to a fist as he came hard down the back of his throat. He gasped as he felt Hannibal swallow, his body starting to go limp as he came down. Breathing heavily, he released the fist in Hannibal’s hair but did not remove his hand as the older man pulled away. He dragged his lips back slowly - carefully taking anything he’d missed - before he placed his cheek on Will’s thigh.

He sighed as Will’s fingers played in his hair, licking his lips to savor the taste.

The fire at Hannibal’s back had started to die down.

“That can’t be how you imagined this happening for the first time.”

Hannibal smiled and kissed the soft inside of his thigh, falling off his knees and onto his hip between Will’s legs.

“No,” he said. “But it was perfect.”

They listened to the wind kick up outside, snow whipping around the wood.

“Come on,” Will said. “We should shower.”

Reluctantly, Hannibal came to his feet and followed Will into the bathroom. He stripped out of his soiled pants as Will turned the water on, testing the temperature with his hand before he stepped in. Hannibal followed and immediately pressed Will’s back to his chest. The younger man sighed, feeling hot water and naked skin at his backside. Strange, he thought as Hannibal’s hands found the scar at his belly, how natural it seemed; as if they were newlyweds.

They cleaned each other slowly, until the water started to go cold, before they stepped out and dried. Hannibal continuously dipped to drop small, fleeting kisses to Will’s skin. Then they parted, each headed to their own room. Hannibal dressed for bed and listened to the sounds of Will doing the same. When he heard the dresser drawer close, he waited, unsure.

Would Will welcome him to his bed?

Would he join him in his own?

Would he prefer his own space? 

Was he regretting what had happened already?

Had this indeed only been about a physical release?

As he moved to turn down the comforter, he heard Will’s footsteps in the hall. He knocked on Hannibal’s open door, dressed in cotton pants and a thin long sleeved shirt, a pillow tucked under his arm.


End file.
